


The Road You Didn't Take

by Firuflies



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #ItsStillBeautiful, M/M, Missing Scene, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, angst with a happy ending (I swear)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 11:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7712545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firuflies/pseuds/Firuflies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tiles are cold against his forehead, in contrast with the steaming hot water running over his back, but he feels neither of them, consumed as he is by a single stream of thought.</p><p>What should have I done.<br/>What should have I said.<br/>What could have been.<br/>The road not taken and the damning consequences of his own pride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Another Hill to Climb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Llewcie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/gifts), [starkaryen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkaryen/gifts).



> Hi! This comes from a wild night in the Hannibal CreATEive Pub, when someone posted [this gif](http://67.media.tumblr.com/b4cf9c61725b7a3280317d358a550a57/tumblr_npggacOL491r0g0c4o4_250.gif) that planted a seed that grew up to become this monster. The titles come from [this heartbreaking song](http://www.metrolyrics.com/the-road-you-didnt-take-lyrics-stornoway.html) and this is of course inspired by The Road Not Taken by the wonderful Robert Frost.
> 
> It is also my first solo fic for this fandom and I need to apologise in advance for the angst, and all the errors, which are entirely mine and nothing to do with the amazing betas I had looking into this for ages.  
> Huge thanks to all the members of Hannibal CreATEive for their daily presence in my life and especially to [Llewcie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/pseuds/Llewcie) and [Starkaryen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/starkaryen/pseuds/starkaryen) for suffering this long road with me. This is for you and because of you, and I will be probably sending you both teacups very soon as part of my revenge. 
> 
> Published in two parts, because I am sure if you are in this fandom is because you appreciate a bit of suffering, but with a happy ending mainly to avoid getting killed by someone mentioned above.
> 
> Finally, this is part of the #ItsStilBeautiful fest. See second part for details!

The tiles are cold against his forehead, in contrast with the steaming hot water running over his back, but he feels neither of them, consumed as he is by a single stream of thought.

What should have I done.  
What should have I said.  
What could have been.  
The road not taken and the damning consequences of his own pride.

He doesn't regret his actions of the night, and the ache he still feels beating inside this chest is all the justification he needs. And he didn't fight it. Will didn't fight him. He just stood there and faced the consequences of his actions. Will looked him in the eye, as the teacup he had just put together shattered into a thousand pieces, and welcomed the blade inside him. The same way Hannibal had let him in too, just to be ripped apart from inside.

No. He doesn't regret it. But he would have it better if he could.

There's a million things he could have done or said to make things different, but at the end of the day, none of his actions could change Will’s unpredictable nature.  
Or the fact that he adores it. And him. Dearest Will, now bleeding in his kitchen next to the daughter he would never be allowed to keep.

In another version of last night, they beat the Greeks and not even divine intervention could bring them down. They would be far away in strange lands to do as they please, in front of a brave new world full of possibilities and no limits. Instead, here he is, a broken Achilles drowning in a hell by his own hand and far away from a Patroclus that didn't want to be saved.

Back to the present, he can feel his eyes burning from the tears he doesn't want to let go, but the moment he moves back inside the stream of water he can feel them running down his cheeks mixed with blood and rage and gathering together at his feet, before getting lost forever down the drain, along with the pieces of their broken teacup.

The moment is interrupted by a noise coming from the bedroom and he knows it then. He knows he has to face it all. Her, his broken heart and this unexpected version of the new world he has created. But he can give himself a few more minutes, close his eyes, put his head back and meet Will in the quiet of their stream...

  
[A few weeks after…]

This wasn’t the plan. None of this was. Having the incorrect company and a different accommodation aside, coming here was definitely not part of his plan and he could feel the tension concentrating inside his stomach the moment he put the key in the keyhole.

It's not as if he could stop himself, really, and there is still a tiny part of him that is naive enough to believe he would wake up from this nightmare the moment he entered the flat. He would be welcomed by the right people, in the right place, where they all are supposed to be. Instead, he finds himself surrounded by an enormous empty space waiting to be claimed and his own growing frustration as his only company.

He is not in the mood to be able to fool himself into finding a silver lining, so he goes straight into the living room where he knows he will find three passports, two of them with matching surnames. He picks them up and avoids opening them on purpose, not eager to have their faces staring at him. He ponders, though, if he is angry enough to risk his hiding place by sending them to the hospital in Baltimore. It would be absolutely worth it, if he just managed to make Will feel half of the anger that's been flowing through his veins since he arrived to Paris.  
Even more since he ventured onto this road he never intended to walk on his own.

He puts the passports down with a sigh and moves to the kitchen, the only space he can imagine will be free of ghosts. He couldn’t have been more mistaken, and he curses his past self the moment his eyes catch the set of teacups he left on the kitchen island many months ago. Three delicate teacups waiting in line, untouched and ready to be fill with lazy mornings and a shared future.

When he leaves 15 minutes later, the remains of the passports are still smoking in the fireplace. He licks the tiny cut in his thumb, which is the only memory of the now shattered pale china, gleaming in contrast against the dark floor of the kitchen every time he closes his eyes, the image forever imprinted in his mind. Then, he locks the door behind him without looking back.


	2. Let the Waves Come Drown out the Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tiles are cold against his forehead in contrast with the warm water that runs gently over his back, relaxing his muscles and easing the tension of his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left comments and kudos on the first part, it will take me a while but I will go through them at some point in time <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy this second part :)

[Some years later…]

The tiles are cold against his forehead in contrast with the warm water that runs gently over his back, relaxing his muscles and easing the tension of his shoulders.

It has been a long day, within some long weeks, during which he has learnt to appreciate these quiet moments, now that he finally can enjoy them outside a glass cell. For the first time in a long time he can allow himself the luxury of emptying his mind and just enjoy the moment - just himself and the warm stream.

He could dwell on the events of the last few weeks - the good and the not so good - and he would probably find a million ways in which everything could be shattered into a million pieces once again. But he would rather experience and take everything as it comes. Sometimes bitter with a taste of the past, but the sweetness of the present - and the future - is worth a few more scratches.

He arches his back before stepping backwards into the stream, letting it wash his hair as he starts humming a popular song he doesn’t remember listening to. The moment is interrupted by a noise that’s coming from the other side of the not so tinted glass.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” Says the noise, and Hannibal smiles fondly when he identifies it as Will, still with his earphones on and wearing his running clothes.

Hannibal chuckles, a sound Will considers akin to a small miracle every time he gets to witness it, as he leaves the bath without bothering to get a towel to cover himself.

“No, no, it’s fine, I can wait until you are...”

But before Will can finish his sentence Hannibal’s naked arms are around him, his nose buried in his neck. His clothes are wet within seconds, but everything Will feels is the warm tears running down his neck and a smile whispering words he can’t really hear, but tickling gently against the sensitive skin of his neck.

 

[A few days later]

This was not the plan. Nothing is going according to plan. Leaving aside the fact that the food should be inside the oven and not half chopped on the board, he shouldn’t be back this soon. And he himself should have been sitting at the table when it happened, in front of a warm meal and with a glass of wine in his hand. Instead, he is on his knees with his hands full of broken china.

If he were honest with himself - and today he is trying to be honest with everyone - he didn’t expect to be in this position for this particular reason. Or any other, right? But it might happen. One day, sooner or later. Maybe today, of all days.

He shakes his head to get rid of the ramble that is starting inside and focuses on the matter at hand; picking up all the pieces of the shattered teacup that lays on the floor in front of him before the noise from the car outside decides to enter the house.

Of all the things he could have broken, it had to be a damn teacup.

Hannibal is to blame, really, for coming back earlier than expected and for all his damn metaphors. Now he feels like he has broken his (dear god, way too delicate) heart (once again) and he can only imagine how he is going to react. He could easily storm away and come back a week later covered in some poor soul’s blood… or just buy another teacup. He has no hopes to get a reaction that's not in one side of opposite extremes, at this point in their lives.

A clear noise comes from the front door followed by a voice calling him, and Will tenses and stands up too quickly, both hands full and an apology quickly forming in his mind.

Hannibal comes in a second later, following his own voice before Will can open his mouth.

“I finally got them; I hope you don’t mind they misspelled your…”

He freezes at the spot when his eyes catch Will standing there and they travel from his hands to his face and back, before Hannibal finally sets his gaze on the first and drops the two passport he was carrying on the kitchen’s island.

They stand in silence for what feels the longest minute in history, until they both break it at the same time.

“I am sorry… I…”

“Are you alright, Will?”

To Will’s surprise, Hannibal smiles and takes a few steps towards him, inviting him to continue talking.

“I was... “ He angles his body to the side to point at the unfinished meal “I wanted to surprise you. But then you came earlier than I thought and… Well you startled me and this was in the way”.

He then lifts both his hands, which Hannibal takes as an invitation to get closer and start to take the fragments from him and set them gently next to the passports behind him.

“Are you hurt?” he asks without looking at him, focused on his task.

“No… I was careful. Are… Are you OK?”

Hannibal nods slowly in response, his hands never leaving Will’s as he carefully frees him from his burden. Will finds himself unable to stop staring as he empties his hands.

Hannibal is suddenly done and the next thing Will can feel is a long sigh very close to his face and then Hannibal’s lips on his, gentle and not pushing, as if asking for permission to enter a locked space. Will gives in to the kiss before he can start thinking about it and Hannibal smiles and opens his mouth in response. The kiss deepens but neither of them seem very eager to increase its pace, tasting rather than teasing, and giving up completely to each other rather than playing one of their usual games.

Will is considering not leaving this spot in the kitchen between the counter and the slow lips, when Hannibal, surprisingly, breaks the kiss and presses their foreheads together, framing Will’s face with his hands. He has his eyes closed and seems lost in a stream of thought, so Will allows himself to stare. He doesn’t remember seeing him smiling like this before and can feel his own lips curling up on their own volition, before he realises Hannibal is actually mumbling something to himself.

“...And that has made all the difference”

They have been together but not together, for long enough for Will to know when he doesn't need to answer, so he lets Hannibal lean into him and takes them both into his own stream, now flowing gently and undisturbed into the same direction.


End file.
